


wide awake in bed with my clothes on the floor

by Gladdybug



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ...and they were quarantined!, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Confessions, Crushes, Current Events, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Scent Kink, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Smut, Soft Hubert von Vestra, Sweat, bottom!ferdinand, but it's just weed, no beta we die like Glenn, post-college I guess, quarantine fic, sweat kink, top!hubert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladdybug/pseuds/Gladdybug
Summary: Ferdinand asks his best friend and college crush Hubert to quarantine with him in his small Boston apartment. Hubert’s really good at cooking. Ferdinand has taken up dance workout videos to keep in shape. Old feelings resurface over a dinner of surplus eggplants. Hubert may or may not have a sweat kink.Oh yeah, and there’s only one bed.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 32
Kudos: 189





	1. Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Shawn Wasabi's "Medicine" ft. Tia Scola. 
> 
> Actual smut will happen in the 2nd chapter, whenever that occurs. In the meantime, enjoy these two dweebs pining for each other!

Ferdinand lives alone in a modest little apartment on the corner of Kelton and Scottfield, the vast expanse of Commonwealth Avenue a mere block away. It’s a brick building with four floors and no elevator; Ferdinand’s unit is three floors up and faces away from the street. He doesn’t get to control the heat and can’t open the single window in his combination entryway-living room-dining room because of the bulky AC unit that keeps him from boiling in the brutal Boston summers. There is just enough room for himself, a young bachelor in the second semester of his Master’s in Political Science who only comes home to sleep between classes, parties, the library, and the gym, and he’s fine living that way. 

Until, one March morning, the governor unveils the safer-at-home measures. As soon as he can, he calls Hubert.

Calling Hubert is nothing new; he calls Hubert about once a week. Fate and university housing stuck them in a dorm together Freshman year and despite a rocky start to their relationship, they became good friends and stayed together through graduation, even renting an apartment together during Senior year. Thus, Ferdinand has no reservations about ringing Hubert up to complain about the new order. Hubert picks up on the second ring.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert drawls, his measured way of speaking bringing some comfort to Ferdinand’s ears, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“D...did you hear the news?” blurts Ferdinand.

“Indeed. It looks like those  _ blithering idiots _ at the conference downtown lacked the  _ common sense _ to stay home when sick. Now the rest of us have to pay the price,” he hears Hubert sigh, weariness weighing down his voice, the same weariness a shroud Ferdinand only just realized he’d been wearing. 

“Price, indeed!” interjects Ferdinand, dumbfounded. 

“Though,” continues Hubert, “I imagine this stay-at-home order will be worse for you than I, social butterfly that you are.”

Ferdinand scoffs. “You know me too well, Hubert. Which brings me to my next point,” he clears his throat. Suddenly, the bravado that urged him to call Hubert has disappeared as he tries to piece together the real reason for his inquiry.

“Oh?”

“Wh-where are you staying for quarantine?”

Hubert answers without missing a beat. “My apartment, of course. Edelgard is having us all work from home for the time being.”

Ferdinand has seen Hubert’s apartment, an under-maintained, over-priced unit some ways down the subway route from his own. The thought of it alone makes him shudder and the thought of Hubert, languishing all alone in that death trap of an apartment for an extended period of time, spurs Ferdinand to ask his next question.

“How would you like to stay with me?” he asks, before his voice starts to waver, “at least for the duration of the order, I don’t think I could go six weeks without seeing another person, and--”

He’s not sure what he’d expected, but he certainly didn’t expect Hubert to chuckle into the phone, his voice dark yet somehow sweet. 

“Why not?” answers Hubert, traces of a laugh still dripping from his voice, “it’ll be like old times.” 

Relief settles into Ferdinand’s bones and he drops onto the couch, giving a short laugh. “I guess so,” he says, “do what you need to to get ready, and I can help you move your stuff over whenever is most convenient for you.” 

—

Hubert moves in the following Saturday. He doesn’t have very many possessions to bring over, reasoning that since he already lives alone, he can safely go home and retrieve anything he needs if he borrows Ferdinand’s car. Moving in with Ferdinand is just an act of kindness on Hubert’s part; offering himself as an anchor for the stir-craziness that will inevitably overtake Ferdinand if left on his own. It’s nothing more. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Truthfully, the prospect of living with Ferdinand again sends butterflies spiraling excitedly through his body, leaving giddiness in their wake. 

Ferdinand helps him with his suitcases, hefting one in each hand before marching up three flights of stairs as if they weighed nothing while Hubert struggles with the smallest of his baggage. As if compensating him for his upper body strength, which pales in comparison to Ferdinand’s, fate allows him a grand view of Ferdinand’s ass flexing in his fitted Levi’s. 

“I was thinking you could stay in my room and I could take the couch,” says Ferdinand, dropping one of Hubert’s suitcases to unlock his door, “after all, you’re doing me a huge favor by staying with me… I think I’d go crazy cooped up in here, all by myself. I really appreciate your company.” 

Hubert leans against the railing, catching his breath not because of the stairs but because of Ferdinand’s use of  _ your company.  _ “The pleasure is mine. I do miss when we used to live together, believe it or not.” 

Ferdinand laughs, a bright tinkling sound that mingles with his keys jingling as his door swings open. “I find that hard to believe! I dragged you into so much trouble, I’m surprised you’ve stuck with me all this time.” 

Hubert shrugs, lips curled into a small half-smile. He picks up his suitcase. “Let’s just say that I grew accustomed to your shenanigans,” he replies, dragging his suitcase into the apartment. 

“I knew I missed you for a reason,” laughs Ferdinand, closing the door behind them.

Hubert can’t suppress the way his stomach flutters at this, and indulges in the flames of a crush not quite extinguished.

__

They are quick to adjust to their old rhythms, as if graduation and eight months of living in The Real World have never happened. Ferdinand is unsurprised to find out that Hubert still likes working at a desk and clears off his bedroom desk (normally covered in not-quite-dirty clothes) for Hubert to work at. Hubert still rolls his eyes at Ferdinand’s propensity to work on the couch in his silken PJ’s, legs tucked up beneath him as he hunches over his laptop. They work together to create an online calendar for all of Ferdinand’s classes, Hubert’s work meetings, and Ferdinand’s internship meetings so that they don’t disturb each other’s work during the day. They take turns ordering groceries using a spreadsheet Hubert put together and split the bill. Hubert offers to split rent as well, but Ferdinand vehemently refuses because Hubert’s still paying rent on his place. He acquiesces to letting Hubert split the water, electricity, and internet bills, though.

Hubert’s toiletries join Ferdinand’s in the bathroom. Hubert’s fancy coffee finds a place in the cabinet next to Ferdinand’s tea. At Edelgard’s request, Ferdinand enters his bedroom at 5:30 PM every evening to shake Hubert out of a work-induced haze and implore him to eat dinner. “Or else he’ll work for the next six weeks straight,” she says over the phone. 

If he’s up for it, Hubert will cook dinner for them. His cooking has only gotten better since graduation, and he moves about Ferdinand’s tiny kitchen with the grace and confidence of a professional chef. Ferdinand likes to watch from the couch, hypnotized as Hubert smashes garlic with the flat of his kitchen knife or stir a bubbling pot with one hand resting thoughtfully on a cocked hip. 

The thought that only Hubert could make cooking look sexy is immediately followed by the sobering realization that he’s not quite over his college crush. 

__

Two weeks into his stay, Hubert is in the kitchen fixing dinner out of a surplus of eggplants when Ferdinand comes out of the bedroom, dressed down in black compression leggings, the shiniest silver basketball shorts Hubert has ever seen, and a ridiculous muscle tee ripped nearly all the way down the sides made from an old promotional T-shirt from their Alma Mater. If he cranes his neck right, he can see through one ripped side across the silhouette of Ferdinand’s abs through to the other ripped side. Ferdinand’s flame-orange mane has been pulled into a high ponytail, with any stray locks tamed behind a sweatband that Hubert recognizes as a gift from Dorothea from several years ago. It says “ _ARE YOU NASTY?_ ” on the front in loopy cursive. 

“I’m going to work out, is that okay? Just for half an hour.” Ferdinand asks, already bending over to turn on the TV. 

Hubert tries to focus on the lemon he’s juicing, rather than Ferdinand’s shiny silver ass. It doesn’t work. “Sure,” he calls, “dinner should be ready by the time you’re done.”

Ferdinand hums in affirmation. Hubert can hear him typing on his phone, likely trying to cast a workout video to the TV. His suspicions are confirmed when he hears upbeat music blaring from the living room area. 

“ _ All right, everybody! Get ready to dance and sweat with our girl Shani Desjardins!” _

_ “Thanks Anna! Welcome to Pop Fitness, we’re gonna try something we’ve never done before on this channel--hip-hop tabata, I hope y’all are ready to get poppin’! Let’s go!”  _

He hears Ferdinand hop in place and breathe out in short bursts in an attempt to psych himself up as Shani Desjardins explains what kind of jumps and knee-kicks they’ll be doing for the next few minutes. Now that he thinks about it, he recalls Ferdinand spending an exorbitant amount of time at the gym while they were in college, usually fitting his workouts between his afternoon classes and dinner at the dining hall. In their Sophomore year, Hubert once asked Ferdinand why he liked to work out so much, genuinely curious what kind of satisfaction Ferdinand found from aching muscles and heavy breaths. What he got in response was a full explanation of Ferdinand’s workout routine, from full-body strength training on Mondays-Wednesdays-Fridays to high-intensity cardio Tuesdays-Thursdays and yoga on Saturdays, that explained absolutely nothing. It wasn’t until Ferdinand convinced him to start running that Hubert finally understood why, and when the reason revealed itself, it was so decidedly  _ Ferdinand _ that Hubert felt himself falling just a little more in love.

The oven dings. The eggplant is done. 

He peels the skin from the roasted eggplants, saving half of them for the main dish and tossing the other half in a blender with tahini, garlic, and lemon juice. He empties the result into a bowl, covers it in plastic wrap, and sets it in the fridge for the time being. 

He’s sprinkling salt into some boiling water when he hears Ferdinand cry out in pain. Panic pulses through him and he crosses the kitchen in two quick steps to poke his head into the living room to see Ferdinand rubbing at his calf, brows drawn and a scowl on his face. 

“Are you all right?” asks Hubert, “I heard you cry out.”

Ferdinand sighs through his nose, releasing his calf. Even Hubert can tell that he looks tense. “I went a little too hard,” he says sheepishly, “I got a charlie horse.” 

“Let me get you some water.”

“Thank you, Hubert.” 

Hubert returns to the living room with a glass of water. Ferdinand has already massaged out his charlie horse and is keeping up with Shani Desjardins’ workout, albeit a modified version. Hubert sets the glass of water down on the end table by the couch. 

“Why don’t you rest?” 

Ferdinand shakes his head, still focused on the TV. “I went two weeks without exercising already; I can’t give up. Don’t worry about me, I’m doing the modified exercises. I want to see this through at least.” 

Hubert chuckles. Ferdinand never did things in half-measures; it was one of his most attractive qualities. “Good luck, then. Dinner will be ready shortly.” 

Eyes still glued to the TV, Ferdinand smiles. Hubert feels his stomach flutter and retreats into the kitchen to finish preparing the pasta. 

__

“ _ Great job guys, give yourselves a round of applause! I hope y’all are feelin’ fresh, if you like this workout and you want more, make sure to subscribe--” _

The video cuts out, followed shortly by Ferdinand padding into the too-small kitchen as he follows the delicious smell of tahini and spiced eggplant to its source. “What are you making?” he asks. Hubert can practically hear him salivating and he indulges in a bit of pride in his own cooking.

“Eggplant spaghetti with baba ganoush and pita on the side,” he answers, shaking water off his now-clean hands, “eggplants were on sale.” 

Ferdinand’s eyes light up when he spots the pita bread on the counter. “Can I try some?”

“Only a few minutes until the spaghetti is done. Patience, Ferdinand,” reprimands Hubert, as if scolding a misbehaving puppy, “I promise you won’t have to wait long.” 

A mischievous grin flashes across Ferdinand’s lips and he leers towards the counter. “What if I…  _ zoop! _ ” 

With more agility than Hubert expected from a man of Ferdinand’s bulk, Ferdinand lunges across the small kitchen and grabs at the package of pita bread sitting out on the counter, cackling maniacally. Acting on pure instinct, Hubert whirls around to place himself in Ferdinand’s path only to collide head-on with said bulky man, sending them both slamming into the front of the fridge. The recollection that Ferdinand has 30 pounds on him briefly crosses his mind, only for that thought to be squashed by the fact that Ferdinand smells  _ amazing. _

He smells like sweat and hard work with traces of lavender no doubt left over from his soap, masked nearly completely by a scent that is undoubtedly  _ Ferdinand _ . If Hubert stuck out his tongue, he could lick the salt off of Ferdinand’s freckled shoulder. If he bit Ferdinand’s bicep, he’s sure he could feel the heat radiating through his teeth. Ferdinand’s body is hot and solid against his own where they’re pressed together; he wants to rip the remainder of Ferdinand’s stupid muscle tee off his body, climb his sweaty torso like a tree, and beg Ferdinand to fuck him against the fridge. He’s sure that Ferdinand, Adonis-like in body and with a soul full of kindness incomprehensible, could make him cum before dinner was ready. 

As quickly as it happens, it’s over. Ferdinand retreats, leaving Hubert grasping at the fridge door for support, knees knocked together in a poor attempt to hide his uncomfortably attentive cock. He’s too taken aback by the whole ordeal to scold Ferdinand for horseplay in the kitchen; instead he drags a hand down his face to conceal the blush threatening to burn through his skin. 

Ferdinand, bless his kind heart, is too busy fretting over the fact that he has just body-checked Hubert into the fridge to notice him sinking into a puddle of his own shame. 

“Hubert! Oh no, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he grabs Hubert by the arms, trying to prop him up on unsteady legs. 

Hubert shakes him off, using the fridge to bring himself to his feet. “Yes, just… just a little surprised, is all.” It’s not a complete lie. 

“Oh, um… Do you mind if I take a shower before dinner?”

_ Take one step towards that shower, you tantalizing man, and I will end you,  _ Hubert thinks.

“No, not at all,” he says, “the pasta is still cooking, so…”

“Great,” answers Ferdinand abruptly, turning on his heel and bounding away towards the bathroom, ponytail bouncing behind him. 

It may be wishful thinking, but is that a blush that Hubert spies, coloring Ferdinand’s pretty cheeks? 

__

Few people know that Ferdinand is sharper than he lets on. He likes to keep it that way--let them wonder, let them underestimate him, let them be blinded by the dazzling smile and vehement self-aggrandizement of Ferdinand von Aegir until it’s too late to realize that each claim to how hard-working, how brilliant, and how cunning he is is actually true. 

Which is how he knew something was up with Hubert. 

Sure, he was just horsing around at first (with the aim of grabbing himself a post-workout pre-dinner snack), but then he saw Hubert’s blush, felt Hubert’s heart racing, saw the unrestrained hunger in Hubert’s gorgeous green eyes, and most damning of all, felt Hubert’s cock stiffen against his leg as he body-checked him into the refrigerator. All the old feelings he had struggled to tamp down since their quarantine began came rushing forth like water from his shitty bathroom’s shitty shower head. 

He lets down his hair as the shower warms up to a comfortable temperature, peeling off his sweaty workout clothes and leaving them in a heap by the bathroom door. His charlie horse has since faded into a dull ache and it reminds him of the naked concern in Hubert’s voice as he rushed to Ferdinand’s aid.

Damn him. He had always been the kindest person Ferdinand ever knew. 

You wouldn’t have been able to tell at first glance; his icy demeanor and perpetual scowl had Ferdinand fooled for the first semester they lived together. It took coaxing from Edelgard to get Hubert to open up and to get Ferdinand to be more patient with him.

(Ferdinand was once loath to do anything Edelgard said, believing himself to be better than her. He had long since learned that that was not the case and such thoughts were detrimental to his own well-being and their shared happiness. She’s been a dear friend of his ever since.) 

Once Hubert had opened up and Ferdinand realized the scope of how much he truly cared for his friends, falling for him came as naturally as breathing. He began to notice the little things--fancy tea bags snuck from the dining hall in coat pockets, that one fighty jackass in Ferdinand’s middle-level philosophy and ethics class suddenly leaving him alone, Hubert always having a spare hair tie on him whenever Ferdinand needed one despite keeping his own hair cut short--and those little things aggregated into a large weight laying heavy in Ferdinand’s heart. 

He steps into the shower and sets about scrubbing away the sweat with his favorite lavender-scented soap. Behind closed eyes, he can see the expression on Hubert’s handsome face as he forced himself to pull away, all crimson blotches and parted lips and heavy-lidded emerald eyes shining like jewels in their sockets, hotter than any porn Ferdinand had ever jacked off to. He indulges himself in a few soapy strokes as he cleans off his body; he can’t take too long in the shower after all. Dinner was almost ready, and he’d rather die than miss out on Hubert’s cooking. 

He forgoes his boxers for a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a T-shirt worn thin from overuse, skin warm and raw from his shower. Hubert has already set the dining table and is in the middle of arranging cut pita bread on a plate around a bowl of baba ganoush. The spaghetti, coated in eggplant sauce and parmesan, has already been served. An unopened bottle of white wine, along with two of Ferdinand’s nice wine glasses, is on the kitchen counter. 

“How was your shower?” Hubert says flatly, focusing a little too hard on arranging the pita just right. 

“Good,” answers Ferdinand, sitting down and finally taking in the scope of what Hubert’s prepared. “Wow, Hubert! This looks amazing. I don’t even really like eggplant.” 

The complement seems to buoy Hubert’s spirits some. He smirks, the cocky bastard, and it fills Ferdinand’s heart with joy. “That’s because you’ve never had eggplant prepared by myself,” he says, “Sit tight, Ferdinand. I will get us some wine. You’ll find that I’ve chosen one that will pair nicely with the eggplant.” 

Ferdinand laughs. “Of course you have. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of you.” 

Hubert returns with the wine, pouring them each a glass. He’s prepared to take a sip before Ferdinand stops him.

“Might I… make a toast?” he says, teasing the rim of the wine glass to his bottom lip and enjoying the way Hubert’s eyes flicker up and down, as if unable to decide on what to look at.

“What for?” 

Ferdinand pretends to think for a moment. “Our friendship. And all the times you stole me fancy tea from the dining hall because I was too broke to buy my own.” He raises his glass. 

Hubert follows suit. “To your inexplicable tea addiction,” he teases, earning him a huff from Ferdinand. 

“Hey, at least I’m willing to admit it’s an addiction. You’ve had four coffees today and insisted on calling each one a ‘treat.’” 

"They are a treat, which you'd see if you had any sort of palate, dear Ferdinand."

The banter they fall into over dinner is a comforting one, reminiscent of simpler times. The ever-present disaster lurking outside has allowed them a brief reprieve to seek comfort with each other. Burgeoning attraction aside, Ferdinand feels grateful that Hubert has accepted his offer to stay with him, for he knows he would be much more lonely and miserable if left on his own. He feels more complete with Hubert at his side, with his snappy wit and small smiles and delicious cooking. 

If only he was sure Hubert felt the same. He would lace his fingers with Hubert’s and never let go; lean in and taste the wine on his lips; invite him to slow-dance on the banks of the Charles when they were allowed to go outside again with the lights of the Boston skyline glittering at their backs. 

His fantasies of making up for time spent pining after Hubert were interrupted when Hubert reached across him for his empty plate, hellbent on doing the dishes.

“Absolutely not,” protested Ferdinand, rising to his feet, “you did all the cooking, quite well I might add! It’s only polite of me to do the dishes while you relax.” 

“I like doing the dishes,” answered Hubert.

“At least let me help you clean!” 

Hubert couldn’t say no to that. He’d always been weak to Ferdinand’s enthusiasm, more so now that he could see Ferdinand’s biceps flexing underneath that worn-out T-shirt of his as he gathered dirty dishes in his arms. 

The banter continues over dishes, with Hubert washing and Ferdinand drying and finding a place for everything. Since he had moved out to find his own place and work for Edelgard’s startup, Hubert had almost forgotten what it was like to have Ferdinand constantly and cheerfully chattering away in his ear. He vaguely remembers a time when he would have found it annoying, but now, Ferdinand’s voice is one of the few sounds that brings peace to his mind and serenity to his heart. Maybe it’s because they had lived together for four years, but he’s come to associate that sound with, dare he say, home. 

As he watched Ferdinand flit from cabinet to cabinet, still chattering away, Hubert could only hope that he felt the same.


	2. Cold Sweating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for marijuana use. 
> 
> Ferdinand and Hubert have entered an unspoken war of attrition, fought with acts of kindness and flashes of skin. Ferdinand has taken up baking. Hubert can’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! This chapter is just flirting, feelings, and weed.

Ferdinand worked out every day from 6:00 PM to 7:00 PM. On some days, he took live-streamed classes with his college’s recreational center. Other days, he’d put on a dance workout video and booty-bump his way around the living room. Every day, he made sure to do 100 push-ups, a month-long social media challenge he was powering through with Caspar and Raphael. The effects were starting to show, especially when Ferdinand wore T-shirts. 

Hubert would try to stay out of Ferdinand’s way for the most part, either tucking himself into the kitchen if it was his turn to make dinner or cloistering himself in Ferdinand’s bedroom until it was safe to come out again without Ferdinand tripping over him or catching him off-guard with the hypnotic way sweat dripped in rivulets down his sculpted neck to pool in the divot of his collarbone. 

(Though he wouldn’t mind being body-checked into the fridge again. Just a thought.)

At first, he would wait and listen for the sound of the shower turning on to indicate it was safe to walk around the apartment without his boner wobbling between his legs. But the time between when Hubert heard the audio of one of Ferdinand’s workout videos end and when he heard the shower turn on seemed to be growing longer by the day. He was a busy man, after all, even when working from home. He knew Ferdinand was teasing him; he didn’t have time for these games and was prepared to tell him as much.

All bravado immediately flew out the window when he would lay eyes on Ferdinand, flushed and glowing and fresh from his workout. Their gazes would meet, Ferdinand’s eyes twinkling as he scrubbed his face with a gross washcloth, his disarming smile rendering Hubert useless in an unspeakable, but not altogether unpleasant, kind of way. 

It was almost as irksome as their first time living together, as freshmen fated by the university housing system to put up with each other for a year. He remembers eighteen-year-old Ferdinand, getting in everyone’s business, declaring a fierce rivalry with Edelgard, strutting around like it was his sole cosmic purpose to get under Hubert’s skin. Twenty-three-year-old Ferdinand just happened to be much better at it, with his knowing glances and feather-light touches that made Hubert shiver with want. 

Fine. He would play Ferdinand’s little game of attrition, and he would win. He made sure to show up as soon as Ferdinand finished his workouts with a glass of cold water and a fresh towel (partially because he wanted to win, partially because he didn’t want Ferdinand getting another charlie horse) and appreciate the everloving fuck out of that beautiful man. 

_Get ready, Ferdinand von Aegir. You’re getting exactly what you want._

And then, one day, Ferdinand slid a slice of homemade banana bread in front of Hubert as he worked. 

__

The notion of “quarantine hobbies” was something Ferdinand took issue with. Why did it have to take a global pandemic for people to start finally exploring their interests outside of school and work, and why was he one of those people? 

(Probably due to the indignity and absurdity of contemporary economy, but, as a scholar of political science, Ferdinand felt only partially qualified to talk about it. He would leave the nitty-gritty details to his economist friends.) 

Dorothea had been bugging him to try baking for the past three years, saying how it “relieved stress” and “honed a meditative sort of patience that couldn’t be found in the gym.” Only, now that he was in the midst of finals week, did he realize she was right. There was satisfaction to be found in perfecting a recipe, relief in opening the oven door to find moist banana bread or delicious cookies awaiting him rather than a burnt, shriveled mess. At least, it was a way to use up all the over-ripened bananas Hubert kept buying.

(He would have to have a talk with Hubert about ordering too much produce just because it was on sale. There are only so many things you could do with a surplus of eggplant, and not all of them were as good as Hubert’s baba ganoush.) 

Being a vocal dissenter against sweet treats of any kind, Hubert was extremely hard to bake for. Ferdinand had initially cut the amount of sugar he added to his banana bread in half, but that only resulted in plain-tasting bread. Some whole wheat flour, added in different ratios in tandem with the all purpose stuff, resulted in an earthy taste that bought out the flavor of the bananas more. He was so sure he had the recipe right until he had the audacity to add chocolate chips, upon which his whole recipe was thrown off-balance and had to be reworked from the ground-up. 

Yet Hubert ate every test piece Ferdinand left for him. 

“It’s getting better,” he says one evening, abruptly walking into the living room and startling Ferdinand out of a finals-induced haze. “I prefer the taste of bananas over the taste of sugar.” 

A pulse of joy spikes within Ferdinand at this. “You think so?” he says, a little too eagerly. 

“Yes. Though the ratio of all purpose to whole wheat flour needs a little detail work. You’re almost there,” he pauses to smile, “your last several attempts have been quite… palatable.” 

It’s the highest compliment that Hubert von Vestra, renowned hater of sweets, could give. Ferdinand could kiss him, he’s just that elated. 

“Are you making this with me in mind?” continues Hubert, “I can’t for the life of me see anyone else enjoying banana bread such as this. Edelgard and Lysithea would be horrified at the amount of whole wheat flour you’re using.” 

Busted. Time to come clean. 

“Yeah,” he says, feigning casualness, “I wanted to see if I could make a dessert that even you would enjoy, as a challenge.” 

Hubert hums. “As usual, you never do things by half-measures. I like that about you.” 

“What?” 

“Good luck with your studies, Ferdinand.” With that, Hubert turns on his heel and disappears into Ferdinand’s bedroom, leaving a red-faced Ferdinand to wonder what in the world just happened. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the closed door, Hubert allows himself to drag his hand over his blushing face. 

__

It turns out that one of the side effects of not going outside for a month is horrible insomnia. 

For the past week or so, he would lie awake in bed until 3am, wake up at 7:30 as usual, then down like six cups of coffee and be miserable all day. It got to the point where he began to avoid Ferdinand out of fear of saying something snippy or embarrassing to him, and it only seemed to be getting worse. There was only so much avoidance that could fit into Ferdinand’s tiny apartment.

At Linhardt’s suggestion, Hubert found himself with a pre-roll of some hybrid blend, acquired via curbside pickup from the local dispensary. Refusing to stink up Ferdinand’s room with the blend, he had taken to smoking a little bit of it at a time on the fire escape every night, accessible by squeezing between Ferdinand’s dresser and desk and climbing through the window as Ferdinand slept soundly and enviably on the couch in the living room. 

It was his weakness. As soon as this quarantine was over, he could go back to his normal schedule and sleep as he usually did, with his consciousness fading as soon as there is a pillow beneath his head. But in the meantime, this would have to do, he thinks as he holds the rolled paper firmly between his lips and takes a long drag.

There’s something beautiful and frightening about these moments, he thinks. He’s so used to a Boston that barely ever sleeps, with cars honking into the early hours of the morning as early commuters cross paths with those who stumble home after a long night. Now, the air is eerily still; noises that dare puncture the silence are few and far between. Even the ubiquitous light pollution that keeps the night sky illuminated a foggy purple has lessened to the point where Hubert can make out a star or two in the sky far above. 

Sleepless nights make him feel like falling. He knows he’s safe where he is, sitting on Ferdinand’s fire escape with his arms wrapped around the railing, but his legs swing freely in the air and send a hum of exhilaration vibrating through his bones, dulled by the drug in his system into a pleasant dizziness that he hopes will carry him towards slumber.

A breeze blows by, extinguishing his joint. It takes a few tries for Hubert to flick his lighter on, tired fingers protesting with every movement. 

“I was wondering what you’ve been up to out here.” 

Hubert startles, dropping the lighter where it landed with a clatter on the fire escape. He whirls around to see Ferdinand climbing through the open window, wearing the same loose sweatpants and worn-through T-shirt Hubert had seen him fall asleep in. His hair hangs loose and damp down his shoulders. His soft brown eyes are heavy with concern. 

Hubert snatches his lighter off of the fire escape and shoves it in his pocket, even though the knowing frown Ferdinand gives him says it all. He feels bad, somehow, like a child who’s been caught misbehaving. A feeling of weakness overtakes him and Ferdinand’s gentle voice does nothing to alleviate his guilt. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out, flicking ash from the end of his joint to fly away in the night air, “I, uh, have been unable to sleep.” 

“You’re having trouble sleeping?” asks Ferdinand, sitting besides him. 

“Yes.” 

“How long?”

Hubert sighs. “A few days, now.” 

“You should have told me.” Ferdinand’s concern is sweet, but stings all the same. 

“I don’t know how you could help.” 

Maybe it’s his imagination, but Ferdinand scoots closer to him. Their thighs are almost touching, and Hubert can feel the warmth of Ferdinand’s body radiating through his pajamas. “I’d find a way for you,” he says quietly, and leaves it at that.

The silence between them stretches like the ocean on the horizon. Ferdinand did not know what to expect when he tiptoed into his bedroom to retrieve his phone charger, but he did not expect to find his bed empty and Hubert smoking marijuana on the fire escape in nothing but his pajama pants. It’s such a far cry from the grumpy, cocky man who had been sulking around the apartment for the past few days, and it makes Ferdinand’s heart ache. He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around Hubert, to smooth the wayward curls of his hair and rock him to sleep. Their little game of flirting can wait; he doesn’t want to play if Hubert’s heart isn’t in it. 

Finally, Hubert speaks.

“You’re too kind, Ferdinand,” he says, “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you at my side.” 

The honesty in Hubert’s voice breaks something within Ferdinand. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes and he sniffles. 

“Ferdinand!” gasps Hubert, “Are you crying? Was it something I said?” 

Ferdinand grabs the hem of his T-shirt and uses it to scrub away his tears. “No, you great idiot. You big stupid oaf and your big stupid heart.” He slumps against Hubert’s side, his head falling on Hubert’s bare shoulder, his hair cascading to hide the tears flowing down his flushed cheeks. “How can you say something like that to me? I’m going to get the wrong idea, you know.”

Hubert knows. 

He knows, but he wants to hear Ferdinand say it out loud. 

“What idea?” he asks, hoping Ferdinand can’t see him blushing.

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

“I’d... like that, yeah.” 

Hands, large and warm, freckles scattered like stars across dimpled knuckles, slide across the backs of Hubert’s own. Hubert turns his head to press his nose into Ferdinand’s shower-damp hair. It smells like fresh lavender. He can see Ferdinand’s lip quivering and count the tears hanging off his long, coppery eyelashes. When did they get so close? 

“I love you, Hubert. For a long time, now.” 

Something within Hubert twists and tears of his own collect on his eyelashes. He noses at Ferdinand’s hair, pressing little kisses into cool amber tresses. “How long have you..?”

“Junior year,” admits Ferdinand, “Caspar’s, um, wizard party. It was that night I saw you holding Dorothea’s hair for her after a few too many drinks, then we took her back to Edelgard’s. You and I slept on her couch and you used all the eggs in Edelgard’s fridge to make us all frittata the next morning. I woke up that morning realizing you’d do anything for your friends.”

“...Sophomore year,” replies Hubert, blushing.

“What? I thought you despised me!”

“I thought I did too, until I found you sleeping in the library.” For his own sake, he decided to leave out the part where he, sick with worry, dragged Lorenz to search half of campus with him, only to find Ferdinand passed out in a pile of books with a half-finished energy drink in his hands. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met in all aspects of life,” he says instead, “I admire that.” 

Ferdinand scoffs gently, trailing his fingertips up Hubert’s arm. “You’re one to talk,” he replies, but there is no acid in it. Hubert’s skin is warm and smooth against his cheek, his shoulder solid in a way that makes him feel grounded and safe. 

Hubert chuckles and shifts to rest his arm around Ferdinand’s waist, pulling him into a half-hug because he’s suddenly sober and tired as hell and happier than he’s ever been. He wants to stay like this, with Ferdinand pressed into his shoulder as the night passes them by.

“So… weed?” asks Ferdinand. 

Hubert suddenly remembers he’s holding a half-smoked joint in his lap. “Linhardt told me it would help with my sleeping troubles. I’ll admit that I was skeptical at first, until Edelgard told me that she indulges in it when she can’t sleep. It’s been working for me.” 

Slowly, Ferdinand’s hand inches towards the joint in his lap. “May I try it?” 

“You’ve never tried?”

“I’ve never had interest nor reason to,” Ferdinand answers, a little defensively, “but I _am_ curious. I heard it gives you the munchies.”

Hubert’s loud _HAH!_ breaks through the still night. Somewhere in the distance, their neighbor’s dog barks.

“What? What’s so funny?” Ferdinand’s cheeks are puffed out like he’s trying to make himself look bigger. It’s the cutest thing Hubert has ever seen. 

“It could,” replies Hubert before slipping the joint between his own lips. He’s acutely aware of how intensely Ferdinand’s beautiful brown eyes are focused on his mouth; were he not holding a smoky tube of weed in his teeth, he would lean over and kiss away the wrinkles between Ferdinand’s eyebrows. Instead, he flicks on his lighter, igniting the plant and taking a long drag. After holding his breath for a moment, he passes the joint to Ferdinand, blowing pale smoke into the night sky. “Now, you try.” 

Ferdinand wraps his lips around the paper and inhales quickly, which ends just about as well as you’d expect. 

“How do you— _ack_ —not choke?” He asks between coughing fits. Hubert passes him his water bottle and Ferdinand immediately spills half of it down his shirt as he drinks. 

He takes the joint back from Ferdinand, whose coughing has started to settle. “Go slow,” he instructs, “and hold the smoke in your mouth before exhaling.” He brings the blunt to his lips to demonstrate again, and Ferdinand nods. He’s a little distracted by how gorgeous Hubert’s rosy lips look wrapped around the joint, but Hubert’s always been good at explaining things. His second try goes a lot smoother than his first, and soon he’s smoking like a pro stoner, passing the steadily shortening joint between him and Hubert as they chat quietly about nothing of consequence. 

He’s losing focus. The edges of his vision blur. The city before them is nothing but softly glowing specks, like weary lightning bugs flickering their last as they hover in the air. The only thing he can focus on is Hubert; his senses are flooded with nothing but. He can feel the warmth bleeding through his sweatpants where their hips touch and the gentle brush of Hubert’s fingertips against the exposed sliver of skin at his waist. He can smell the subtle spiciness of Hubert’s shampoo through the odor of the weed. Hubert’s voice, talking about this and that, is low and husky in his ears. If he looks up, he can trace the fine edges of Hubert’s prominent nose, sharp cheekbones, and angled jaw; follow them down to the long lines of his neck, interrupted by his slowly bobbing Adam’s apple as he talks; and even further down to his jutting collarbones and— _oh!—_ his nipples, pebbled by the cool night air. 

He’s always found Hubert sexy, but being high seems to magnify those feelings hundredfold. He passes the joint, now barely more than a paper stub, back to Hubert, who frowns.

“I think this might be the last hit,” he says, slipping the joint into his mouth and taking a long drag. 

“Aww, no!” whines Ferdinand, pushing off of Hubert’s shoulders as he clambers to his knees and grabs Hubert’s face between his hands. Hubert opens his mouth to apologize, but finds his apology, along with half the smoke in his mouth, swallowed by Ferdinand’s lips eclipsing his in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Hubert blinks—once, twice—then twists his fingers into Ferdinand’s shirt and slips his tongue into Ferdinand’s warm, wanting mouth. 

They’re kissing now.

They’re high, and they’re kissing, and _oh_ does it feel _amazing._ Ferdinand has moved to straddle his lap, his hands tangling in Hubert’s hair, his own tongue sliding sensually against Hubert’s. He can hardly register the smoke slipping away through the seams of their lips, pricking at his nostrils and making his eyes water, because Ferdinand’s mouth feels like heaven against his own and his body is strong and warm in Hubert’s arms. 

“Stay with me tonight,” implores Hubert as they part, gasping for air. 

Ferdinand’s fingers come up to weave into his hair and he leans his forehead against Hubert’s, their noses brushing. “If it’ll get you to sleep tonight,” he says before kissing the tip of Hubert’s nose. 

Hubert crumples the extinguished scraps of the blunt in his hands before gathering his lighter, his water bottle, and his best friend-turned-new boyfriend and ushering them both towards the window. Ferdinand climbs through first, barely fitting in the space between his desk and dresser, stumbling in the dark to land face-first on his bed. Hubert joins with a loud _paff_ , sending Ferdinand bouncing upwards in a fit of giggles. They scramble to right themselves, pulling over each other until they’re spooning at the head of the bed. 

The curve of Ferdinand’s spine fits perfectly against Hubert’s own bowed body; he splays one experimental hand over Ferdinand’s ample chest, feeling for the slow rise and ebb that accompanies his slow breathing. Ferdinand hums as he brushes over a nipple, settling into the feel of Hubert’s lips finding their place on the back of his neck. 

“Mmm. Love you, Hubert,” he sighs sleepily, placing his hand over Hubert’s on his chest and settling against the taller man’s body.

Now that he’s curled up in bed with his arms and longing heart full of Ferdinand, he can feel the tension leaving his body as sleep bleeds into the corners of his mind. He’d started their mad dash for the bed with a little sleepytime hanky-panky in mind, but this… right now, he wanted this so much more. Surrounded by the lavender-sweet smell of Ferdinand’s hair, with the faint salt of Ferdinand’s skin on his lips and the curves of Ferdinand’s chest and hip fitting comfortably into his palms, he exhales the last of his consciousness into the air between them.

“Love you too, Ferdie.” 

They both sleep extremely well that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gimmick of a wizard party is to stack all your empty beers and tape them together into a "wizard staff," tape a full can to the top, and drink out of the top can. Sparkly capes and pointy hats are optional, but appreciated. 
> 
> My housemate makes banana bread using a mix of whole wheat and all-purpose flour and it comes out quite delicious. Would highly recommend. 
> 
> The third chapter will be the last in this little saga, and boy oh boy will it be a spicy one! Stay tuned!


	3. Love It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert and Ferdinand fuck. Literally that’s it, they’re in love and they fuck and it’s filthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shoves all of my own kinks onto Hubert, clearly projecting* ah yes, character development

Living with Hubert as his boyfriend is leagues more fun than living with Hubert as his roommate. 

Though Ferdinand has had to plow through his final exams and a twenty-page term paper, knowing that he has Hubert on the other side of his bedroom door fills him with strength. The same goes for Hubert, as he analyzes financial data and writes reports for Edelgard. Whenever he goes to refill his coffee, he detours to the couch, smooths out the crease in Ferdinand’s brow with his thumb, and leaves a kiss on the top of Ferdinand’s head.

“For good luck,” he says. It makes no sense, but seeing Ferdinand blink slowly and smile makes his heart swell, so he does it anyway. 

Sometimes they prepare dinner together, with Hubert cooking and Ferdinand baking, and share it over whatever wine Hubert thinks will pair best, chatting as they eat. Then they clean the dishes together, with Hubert washing and Ferdinand drying and putting everything away, and sit down to watch a movie or play some video games to unwind before bedtime.

If sleep eludes him, Hubert will go out onto the fire escape to smoke, though he finds himself having to do that less and less with Ferdinand sleeping in his arms every night. 

Ferdinand aces his finals and turns in his term paper. Despite everything going on, he has managed to complete the first year of his master’s degree, and he celebrates by begging Hubert to indulge him in a two-person “rager”, where they get silly-drunk and play a two-person beer pong game on Ferdinand’s dining table before dancing like idiots to a playlist of all the songs they listened to in undergrad then passing out in each other’s arms on the couch before midnight even hits. 

Like the most resilient desert flower, they’ve managed to make their love flourish under harsh conditions. Which, Ferdinand thinks, deserves a reward. 

__

Hubert is at Ferdinand’s desk putting some final touches onto a report for Edelgard when he realizes it’s 6:52 PM and he has no idea what to make for dinner. A surprise meeting with one of Edelgard’s more... verbose clients delayed their weekly grocery order by a day and he has half a mind to just say _fuck it_ and make them both boxed macaroni and cheese. 

Ferdinand is probably most of the way through his workout by now, another dance workout from his favorite, Shani Desjardins, by the sound of it. Hubert pops out of the bedroom to ask his opinion on cheesy pasta, but the words die on his tongue as soon as he sees what Ferdinand is wearing. 

Barely covering his finely sculpted torso is Ferdinand’s ridiculous muscle tee, the side seams nearly ripped through with how much Ferdinand wore that thing since quarantine began. Ferdinand’s rosy nipples now slip out the sides with every swaying step. 

Barely covering his ass are the tiniest little track shorts Hubert had ever seen. He had seen them once before, nearly two years ago on a morning run with Ferdinand, and had to collect his wits in a cold shower afterwards. Even the minutest motion of Ferdinand’s hips threatens to send his junk spilling out of one leg hole for all the world and Hubert to see, for there’s no way Ferdinand can fit something as extraneous as _underwear_ under those sinful shorts. 

Hubert’s blatant ogling doesn’t go unnoticed. “Like what you see?” asks Ferdinand, whose ass peeks out beneath the hems of his ridiculous shorts as he bends at the knees. Bless Shani and her squat-kicks. 

“Indeed,” says Hubert, voice tightened by lust to the brink of snapping. 

“Can I help you with something?” asks Ferdinand, eyes flickering between the screen and Hubert. 

“Nothing at all,” says Hubert lightly. The hungry lilt in his normally deep voice sends shivers up Ferdinand’s spine and he nearly loses his balance. ”Can’t I admire the man I love as he shows off how _strong_ and _fit_ he is?” 

Ferdinand growls, brow furrowing. Hubert’s gotten good at teasing, and it lights a fire under Ferdinand’s skin. 

“I have five minutes left, then I’m all yours,” he says darkly. 

“Five minutes, hmm?” 

He hears a quiet unzipping sound and snaps his gaze away from the TV. Hubert is still leaning nonchalantly against the wall, but his cock hangs free in the _V_ of his zipper as he skates gentle fingers over the flushed head. He watches Ferdinand intently through lowered eyelashes, his piercing gaze sending shivers up Ferdinand’s spine. Knowing that Hubert is getting off on this sends heat spiraling through his body to pool between his legs. He feels the hardening of his own length against his thigh, coming dangerously close to peeking through the leg of his shorts, worst of all interfering with his squat-kicks. 

“Am I distracting you? My apologies. Do go on.” 

Ferdinand can _hear_ the smirk in Hubert’s voice and would be able to see it too, if his attentions weren’t fixed on Hubert languidly stroking his semi-hard cock in the middle of their living room, just rough enough to tease. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

The next five minutes drag on for what feels like forever. Ferdinand is uncomfortably hard in his absurdly tiny shorts but too stubborn to give Hubert the satisfaction of seducing him away from his workout, while Hubert is salivating at the prospect of ripping away the last shreds of his muscle tee and grinding himself to completion against Ferdinand’s sweat-soaked abs but delights in making Ferdinand suffer. 

Finally, Ferdinand squats his last squat and hurriedly turns off the TV. He shoots a final lust-addled glare at Hubert.

“Just you wait. I’ll be back,” he warns, already turning towards the bathroom.

“Take one step towards that shower and I will eviscerate you, Ferdinand von Aegir,” snarls Hubert. 

Ferdinand’s lips curl into a cocky grin. “I’d like to see you try, darling.” 

Hubert lunges.

The sudden appearance of Hubert’s tongue on his neck rips a long, throaty moan from Ferdinand’s lips. His hands are fisted in the scraps of Ferdinand’s muscle tee, pulling it this way and that so he can run long and delicate fingers up and down his muscled torso. Ferdinand yields, allowing Hubert to push him up against the closed door to his bedroom as he laps at the rivulets of sweat dripping down his shoulders like a man dying of thirst. It dawns upon him that Hubert has a sweat kink, and his head swims giddily with the realization. He pulls Hubert off of him and he lets out a dazed whine, eyes glassy with need, lips mouthing at air like he’s about to die without something to suck on. Ferdinand kisses him, slips his tongue into his love’s wanting mouth, tasting the salt of his own skin on Hubert’s lips, and Hubert sighs into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. 

They part with a wet pop. Ferdinand heaves Hubert closer to his body, one arm wrapped sturdily around his darling’s waist and the other one grasping at shiny coal-black locks. Hubert blinks slowly, as if coming out of a trance. 

“You like me like this, all gross and sweaty,” Ferdinand says matter-of-factly, causing Hubert to flush bright red. He squirms in Ferdinand’s grasp, looking for escape, maybe a hole to bury himself in forever, but finding no reprieve from Ferdinand’s accusatory amusement. Ferdinand laughs, a warm sound that sends heat flooding through Hubert’s body. “If I had known, I would have stopped showering at the gym a long time ago.” 

“Hush, dear,” Hubert murmurs, licking a long stripe up the column of Ferdinand’s neck that ends in a gentle bite to Ferdinand’s earlobe. 

“Mm, but you’re so into this. I love it.” Ferdinand lowers his hand to rest on the curve of Hubert’s ass, strong fingers massaging the flesh beneath. He wedges a muscular thigh between Hubert’s legs to give him something to grind against as he sates himself on the taste of Ferdinand’s sweat. “You should work out with me next time,” he adds, “we can get sweaty together.” 

The idea of him and Ferdinand, muscles aching and chests heaving, rubbing their sweat-slicked bodies against each other in a desperate tangle of limbs and lust makes Hubert’s cock twitch against Ferdinand’s leg, dripping pre-come onto the hem of those damnable shorts.

“Admit it, you like the idea,” teases Ferdinand, grinding his own erection on Hubert’s hip to show he’s not alone. 

Hubert simply glares in response before ducking his head down to hide his face in the crook of Ferdinand’s neck. He reaches past Ferdinand for the doorknob. “Bed,” he says, a quiet command, before twisting the handle and sending them both tumbling into Ferdinand’s bedroom.

They stumble and land on Ferdinand’s bed in a tangle of limbs, adjusting so that Hubert can sit straddling Ferdinand’s waist, cock still framed by his open fly. Ferdinand covers it with his own hand, thumbing away the slickness beading at the head, reveling in the shivers that wrack Hubert’s frame as he does so. 

“Ah, ah,” Hubert bats away Ferdinand’s hand, refusing to be jerked off to completion so easily. “I’m not done with you yet.” He grabs at Ferdinand’s wrist. “Arms up.”

Ferdinand’s eyebrows tilt in confusion, but he complies, flinging his arms above his head. 

Hubert descends on his armpits, nosing into the damp hair there and tracing his tongue up the seams of Ferdinand’s pecs. He’s a vision to behold, eyes fluttering shut and sighing contentedly into Ferdinand’s skin as his hand skates across his abs through the sides of his muscle tee. Ferdinand shakes beneath him, squirming from the sensation.

“I’m a little ticklish,” he sighs. Hubert files that information away for future use, when he’s not so distracted by the salt-sweet taste or heady scent of Ferdinand’s skin. In near-delirium, he sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of Ferdinand’s tricep, and is rewarded with a moan. 

“The Goddess really took her time when she made you, Ferdinand von Aegir,” Hubert blasphemes lovingly, rising to press his lips to Ferdinand’s temple. “So handsome, kind, and hard-working,” he grips the hem of Ferdinand’s shirt to pull it over his head, revealing the cut lines of Ferdinand’s torso, “and oh, so very strong.” Once Ferdinand’s shirt has been discarded on the floor, he begins to lap at Ferdinand’s broad chest in earnest, lips latching onto a peaked nipple and provoking a cry from his lover. 

“ _Hubert--!”_

“Yes, my beloved Ferdie?” 

“You can’t say things like that,” whines Ferdinand, tears collecting on coppery lashes as he regards Hubert with a wet gaze.

“Like what,” asks Hubert in mock confusion, twisting one of Ferdinand’s nipples between his fingers, “oh, that you’re the most _divine creature_ to walk this Earth? That I wish to hold your taste on my tongue for the rest of my mortal life, even if it means never tasting another meal ever again? That I will supplicate at your altar and worship you for as long as it takes for you to understand how much you mean to me?” Emboldened, he snakes his hand down Ferdinand’s shorts to curl his fingers around his lover’s erection. “Like that?” 

Ferdinand howls, a needy, lustful song, bucking up into Hubert’s hand. “You’re cruel,” he manages to whimper, though there is no bitterness in his words. 

Hubert leans back, his hands leaving Ferdinand’s dripping cock to grip the waistband of his shorts. “Hips up, love. Let me take care of these for you.” 

Ferdinand obeys docilely, letting Hubert roll the offending garment down his toned legs, drinking in the sight of Ferdinand naked and disheveled before him.

Hubert looks a mite ridiculous, thinks Ferdinand hazily, standing on his knees fully clothed with only his cock out. He would like to see more. Shakily, he props himself up on an elbow and grabs at Hubert’s shirt. 

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked,” he says, “let me even out the playing field.” 

“Wait, I--!”

As Ferdinand lifts Hubert’s shirt over his head, he suddenly recalls that Hubert’s preferred method of exercise was running. It shows in the lean lines of his torso and the sinewy muscles in his arms, which shiver as Ferdinand breathlessly skates his palms over them. 

“Oh my,” he murmurs, “you’re--”

“A little skinny, I know,” interrupts Hubert tersely. 

Ferdinand shakes his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Hubert’s left bicep. “I was going to say _gorgeous_ ,” he responds reverently, “ _breathtaking_ ,” another kiss, “ _delicious_ ,” a swipe of hot tongue across a peaked nipple, “absolutely _fuckable_.” 

Hubert tangles a hand in Ferdinand’s hair, cradling his lover’s head to his chest. “Then get on with it,” he mutters before tugging gently at Ferdinand’s wavy amber locks. 

“Feels good, being on the receiving end of praise, doesn’t it?” says Ferdinand smugly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Hubert’s collarbone. “Though, shamefully, my command over words is lacking in comparison to yours. Yet another thing to love about you.” With a flex of a bicep, Hubert is flipped onto his back, Ferdinand hovering over him as he moves to remove his pants. “May I?”

Nodding, Hubert lifts his hips and with Ferdinand’s assistance, shimmies out of his jeans and briefs. “You say that like it’s difficult,” he says, a smug smile tugging at his lips, “I know that you… have a way with words.”

“Unlike you, I can either have a way with words, or I can have a boner, but I can’t do both at the same time!” retorts Ferdinand, now sitting on Hubert’s chest and looking at him with mild ire, his erection heavy and hot where it rests conspicuously against Hubert’s cheek. “You ought to put that smart mouth of yours to good use, dearest.” 

“Gladly,” says Hubert, gripping Ferdinand by the hips and swallowing his cock to the hilt. 

At this, Ferdinand wails. Hubert’s mouth is slick and warm, devouring him voraciously, lashing at his cock with a talented tongue. He wants to grab Hubert by the hair and fuck his face into the mattress until he can cum down Hubert’s willing throat, but in a show of immense willpower, he resists. He has other things planned. 

Hubert’s grip on the thick flesh of his hips is eager enough to bruise, a notion that Ferdinand finds thrilling as Hubert swallows around his cock. He trails a hand up Hubert’s wrist, gently coaxing those beautiful fingers to find a home closer to his center, closer to the hidden surprise he set up for Hubert before this whole thing began.

“Ah!” Hubert’s eyes fly open as his fingertips brush against something hard where he expected Ferdinand’s asshole to be. He lets Ferdinand’s cock fall from his lips as he tries to make out the foreign object by touch alone. “Is this--?”

Suddenly, Ferdinand feels bashful. “I’ve had this in me since before my workout,” he admits, the already present flush on his face deepening into a beautiful shade of crimson, “with you in mind.” He scoots off of Hubert, leans back against the headboard, and spreads his legs so Hubert can get a better look. 

Nestled into his twitching hole is a plug, a large rhinestone adorning the base whose brilliance seems to wink cheekily at Hubert. He’s transfixed. 

“Oh, Ferdie,” he murmurs, spreading Ferdinand’s ass for a better look, “you were thinking of me?” 

Ferdinand nods.

“And what if I say no? If I leave you here like this, only partially filled and wanting for more?” asks Hubert, his voice taking on a darker tone.

“I’d make you sleep on the couch while I fucked myself on the biggest dildo I own,” answers Ferdinand, a little sharply, “you’d have to listen to me scream your name as I came, over and over again, all through the night.” 

“Sounds like torture,” breathes Hubert, dipping between Ferdinand’s legs to take his cock into his mouth once more. His fingertips find the flared base of the plug and he gives an experimental push, pressing the toy further into Ferdinand’s ass. “Honestly,” he says, pausing his worship of Ferdinand’s cock to admire the plug, “how you managed to do a full workout with this in you is beyond me.” 

Ferdinand spreads his legs further, a nonverbal plea for Hubert to put his mouth back on his body. “It was hard at first…”

“I’ll bet it was,” interrupts Hubert, dipping his head to suck at Ferdinand’s balls, one hand pumping the plug in and out of Ferdinand while the other strokes him from base to tip, pausing to gently squeeze at the head every other stroke or so. The triple assault is almost too much for Ferdinand, and he lets out a high pitched keen that goes straight to Hubert’s dick and the growing wet spot he’s leaving on the bunched-up comforter beneath him. 

Hubert decides that he loves having Ferdinand like this, mewling above him in need as he laps up the sweat behind Ferdinand’s balls. The uniqueness that is Ferdinand’s scent is stronger here; potent and arousing enough to get drunk on. He’s positively drooling, leaving wet trails all over Ferdinand’s groin as he drinks his fill, head spinning as he does. 

Through blurry eyes, Ferdinand can see Hubert’s ass flexing as he humps into the soft blankets, almost mimicking the push-pull of the plug in Hubert’s hands. Maybe he was bewildered at first by Hubert’s scent kink, but it’s really working in his favor now, as he feels himself unraveling beneath Hubert’s talented mouth and nimble fingers. There’s a pressure building inside him, between his legs, threatening to burst forth in a wave of dizzying pleasure thanks to Hubert’s relentless ministrations. Oh, how he wants to cum on Hubert’s face and lick him clean! What a thought! 

Before Hubert sends him tumbling over the edge, he manages to croak out, “Hubert! _Ah_ \--I’m gonna--!”

Immediately, dutifully, Hubert’s mouth leaves its station on Ferdinand’s balls to once again envelop his cock, his tongue working harder than ever to send Ferdinand spiraling into bliss as he runs the flat of it up and down Ferdinand’s shaft and around the head. He’s growing sloppy in his desperation; there’s drool everywhere, but he can’t be bothered to care. All that matters is getting Ferdinand to cum down his throat. 

His final move: he moans lasciviously around Ferdinand’s dick, twisting the plug in Ferdinand as he does so, and Ferdinand _screams_ as he spends into Hubert’s mouth. 

Somewhere in the distance, their neighbor’s dog barks. 

The static in Ferdinand’s mind clears to the sight of Hubert pulling off of his softening cock, trails of white dripping from the corners of his mouth. His gaze meets Ferdinand’s, sharp with want in contrast to Ferdinand’s fuzzy vision, and he lets his jaw drop momentarily, revealing Ferdinand’s spend coating his tongue and teeth, before he shuts his mouth and makes a show of swallowing every last drop of Ferdinand’s seed. The sight sets off a twinge of desire in his loins--Hubert may have bested him, but he’s not out of the race yet, he thinks, as determination cuts through the post-orgasm fog in his mind. 

“You taste divine,” smirks Hubert, leaning back on his haunches to study the blissed-out man before him. His cock, bright red and leaking pre-come onto his thighs, looks painfully erect in spite of Hubert’s cool demeanor. 

Ferdinand narrows his eyes. It’s his turn to make Hubert scream, and he’s bound and determined to do so. He pushes himself up onto shaky arms and crawls towards Hubert, sealing their lips together, the taste of his own cum on Hubert’s tongue sending a thrill through him, the movement of the plug in his ass sending little aftershocks of pleasure coursing through his bones. 

Hubert sighs into the kiss as he lets Ferdinand push him into the mattress. His hands roam across Ferdinand’s shoulders and clasp around the back of his neck, holding them together while he relishes in the feeling of Ferdinand’s lips moving against his own. He feels Ferdinand shift against him and realizes lazily that Ferdinand is now seated atop his waist, his long hair falling in a curtain around where their faces meet. 

It feels so very clandestine, like a little tryst, even though they’re the only two people in the apartment. He’s so very head-over-heels for Ferdinand; the feelings wash over him in waves when he catches sight of golden freckles or the fine hairs on the nape of Ferdinand’s neck when he wears his hair up. He wants to drink up every expression on Ferdinand’s honest face; every tear in his coppery eyelashes, every straight-toothed smile, every blissed-out sigh, every wracked sob as he drags Ferdinand into the pleasurable hell of orgasm. 

He’s hard, almost painfully so, and the pressure of Ferdinand’s ass on his abdomen is doing nothing to dissuade him. Ferdinand’s cock, now half-hard, is warm where it’s pressed into his belly; he wouldn’t mind having it in his mouth again. 

However, Ferdinand seems to have a different idea. He reaches behind himself and eases out the plug, panting little _ah_ _!_ ’s into Huberts mouth as he does so. His asshole, fucked and stretched and loose, twitches beneath his fingers; he feels so _empty_ and at this point, only one thing can satisfy him. 

“I want to ride you,” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of Hubert’s ear, “I want to fuck myself on your gorgeous cock.”

Hubert lets out a little whine at this, reaching down to knead the softness of Ferdinand’s ass. “ _Please_ ,” he begs, “I don’t know how much longer I can--” 

Before he can finish his sentence, Ferdinand fishes out a bottle of lube from beneath his pillow and drops a copious amount onto Hubert’s shaft, coating it thoroughly. Hubert groans, partially at the cold, slick feeling, partially with anticipation of what’s to come.

“Look at you, all wet and willing, just for me,” purrs Ferdinand, scooting back and sinking down onto Hubert’s cock, taking his entire length in one go. 

_Oh…_

Hubert’s cock fills him _perfectly_ , as if his body were made for it. Flexing his trembling thighs, he bobs up and down on Hubert’s length, reveling in the feel of it sliding hot and slick within his overstimulated channel. He’s completely gone at this point, his own cock once again hard and bobbing between his abdomen and Hubert’s, not even bothering to hold back his moans for their neighbors’ sake. 

“ _Ferdie--!_ ” Hubert’s gasp is music to Ferdinand’s ears as he fucks up into Ferdinand’s willing hole, “oh _flames_ \--! You feel so damned _good_ \--!” Pushing himself up on unsteady arms, he presses his face into Ferdinand’s ample chest, his right ear directly over Ferdinand’s wildly beating heart. Now sitting upright, his arms wind around Ferdinand’s waist, nails leaving trails of red in Ferdinand’s muscular back as Ferdinand continues to fuck himself on Hubert’s cock. Every downward thrust of Ferdinand’s hips is met by an equally eager upward motion, a river of babbled gasps and supplications falling from both their lips into the heated air between them. 

“ _Yes!_ Hubert!” sobs Ferdinand, “I need more! Fuck me, _please.._. Make me yours!” 

Suddenly, Hubert pulls out, shoving Ferdinand down onto the mattress. Before Ferdinand can whine about how empty he feels, Hubert grabs Ferdinand’s legs and hoists them over his own shoulders.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growls, baring his teeth, teasing the head of his cock over Ferdinand’s reddened asshole, “careful what you wish for, _Ferdie_.”

“I don’t care! Give it to me, I can handle it!” cries Ferdinand, reaching towards Hubert. “ _Please…_ I need your cock. I need it! I…” he inhales, eyelashes fluttering as his gaze meets Hubert’s. “I need _you_.” 

This spurs Hubert into action. In a single motion, he sheathes himself inside Ferdinand’s ass, both men letting out throaty groans as he does. Hands pressing firmly on the backsides of Ferdinand’s thighs, Hubert pushes, folding Ferdinand in half, reveling in how surprisingly flexible he is. 

He’s at the perfect angle to strike Ferdinand’s prostate, every thrust into the pliant, willing body beneath him hitting home and coaxing the filthiest little wheezes from Ferdinand’s hoarse throat. “Do you like this, darling?” groans Hubert, his thrusts never yielding in neither pace nor intensity, “you’re squeezing me with everything you have. Do you intend on keeping me here, within you, just like that little surprise of yours earlier?” 

“ _Mmh_ , Hubert!” 

He has absolutely no control over the filth spewing from his mouth; neither of them do. Hubert babbles fantasy after dirty fantasy, every last wanton thought he's had about Ferdinand since sophomore year, half of them going unheard, lost in the cries of pure bliss that fall from Ferdinand’s lips with every frenzied thrust. 

The temptation of release, to spill every drop of his seed into Ferdinand’s body, pulls urgently at him. He fights through it--Ferdinand _has_ to cum first. He wants to feel Ferdinand spasm around his cock, watch him paint himself white with his own release, before he can consider chasing his own. He watches Ferdinand intently through narrowed eyes and almost wishes he hadn’t, because Ferdinand, like this, is a sight to behold: slack-jawed and tongue lolling, drool dribbling down his chin, tears flowing from the corners of eyes so rolled back that their irises are barely visible, freckles disappearing under the ruddy flush that makes Ferdinand’s face and body glow. It’s almost enough to make Hubert cum on the spot; the last threads of his self-control fraying at the sight of his lover fucked into bliss. 

He moves one of his hands to Ferdinand’s neglected member, just as red as its owner, and only manages a few rough strokes before Ferdinand cums with a powerful wail, arching sharply off the bed and tightening around Hubert’s cock as his seed splatters in spurts across his chest and neck. Hubert follows immediately after, spilling into Ferdinand’s hole and out the sides as he lets out an unrestrained groan. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, still pressed into Ferdinand as he waits for the world to stop spinning around him. Slowly, gently, he lowers Ferdinand’s legs to the bed as he pulls out, his release flowing freely and obscenely from Ferdinand’s used asshole, and lays down next to him. 

His lover is sprawled gracelessly across the bed, breathing softly, eyes shut. “...Did you fall asleep?” asks Hubert, leaning over to check.

“Not quite,” sighs Ferdinand, cracking open one glazed-over eye. “I just… damn, Hubert. You fucked me _good_.”

Hubert smiles, pushing himself to sit on the edge of the bed, still a bit dizzy himself. “I’m glad, love. Let me get you cleaned up.” Before Ferdinand can protest, Hubert is gone. He hears the tap turn on, then off, then Hubert’s soft footsteps as he returns to the bedroom, holding a warm washcloth in his hands. Humming softly to himself, he leans over to wipe Ferdinand’s drying spend off of his body. 

“Feels nice,” murmurs Ferdinand, settling deeper into the bed. 

Hubert climbs over him to get at the mess he’s made of Ferdinand’s hole, momentarily admiring his handiwork with a bit of pride. He likes the way his own cum trails across reddened skin, leaving slick trails of white in its wake. Sighing fondly, he wipes those away too before disposing of the washcloth in the laundry basket and reclaiming his spot on the bed next to Ferdinand, who drapes himself over Hubert and nuzzles into his shoulder. He’s warm and solid in Hubert’s arms, a lifeline in the sex-induced haze that still pervades Hubert’s mind. 

“Love you, Ferdie,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Ferdinand’s forehead. 

“Mm. You did it again,” is the sleepy reply.

“Did what?”

“Called me Ferdie.”

Hubert looks sheepish. “Do you not like it?” He vaguely recalls having shouted that name in the throes of ecstasy. 

“I _love_ it. I love you. Call me whatever you want.” Ferdinand yawns. 

“As you wish, my Ferdie.” 

A minute passes slowly, filled only by the sound of their breaths and the occasional car outside. 

“Hubert,” says Ferdinand.

“Yes?”

“I was serious about what I said earlier, about you working out with me. Maybe it’ll help you sleep better.” 

Hubert pauses, as if lost in thought. “Maybe I will,” he says finally, “as long as you wear those shorts again.”

 **The** **End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed my first foray into fanfic in five whole years! I had a blast writing this fic, it's given me a lot of joy in these awful uncertain times and I hope I can share that joy with you, sweat kink and all. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> XOXO, Gladdybug

**Author's Note:**

> Eggplants are delicious when you roast them and Boston is a lovely city in the spring.


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